Coffin's Dark Number

by Gwendoline Butler

  He moved towards the door.

  So this was what Coffin knew when he spoke to Joan Eames and didn’t tell her anything: he knew that this time they really had something. After speaking with Parr, he knew that the bodies of two girls had been discovered. He also grasped the probability that more would be found.

  Shirley Boyle, March 18 of last year.

  Grace Parker, April 23, this year.

  Katherine Cable, June 26, this year.

  Thus went the roll call. And then there was the last name of all, Belle Anderson, this year, this month, this week.

  Later that night the police found the body of a third girl. So far there had been only tentative identification but this child was thought to be Katherine Cable.

  They had already found the little bag that Shirley Boyle was carrying and the shoe worn by Grace Parker; and this third child had a red necklace still round her throat.

  ‘So no one went up in a space ship,’ said Coffin. ‘And the man who killed Tom Butt killed the children.’

  ‘Man?’

  ‘Whoever it was,’ corrected Coffin irritably.

  ‘But why kill Butt?’

  ‘Because the killer was frightened. Butt knew something. Perhaps saw something. It’s likely.’

  ‘D’you think Butt was in on it? A helper?’

  ‘No. No, there’s no evidence of that. Butt shows all the signs of being innocent. Innocent and unlucky. He was that sort.’

  ‘And the girls?’

  ‘They were the sort to be victims,’ said Coffin grimly. ‘It was written all over them. Don’t you see it? There ought to be classes in the identification of victims for all policemen. Then we might get them before they become victims.’

  ‘Too late for these,’ said Dove. ‘And anyway, no one ever thinks of himself as a victim.’

  ‘We have too many madmen in this district.’

  ‘Not all of them are murderers.’

  ‘But this one is.’

  ‘We know more or less where to look, don’t we?’

  ‘Well, yes. The girls, as well as being natural born victims, had one thing in common.’

  ‘They all lived round here.’

  ‘More specific than that. They all went to the same school.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Not naturally. There’s the Church School up at St Michael’s. One of them could have gone to the Sisters there. Or there’s the new school down Tanner Lane, but no, they all went to the same school.’

  ‘Which is the nearest.’

  ‘It’s the nearest. And as well as going to the same school, they were the same age. Give or take a bit. And they were all bright. Clever girls. They have streaming at that school according to ability: A, B or C. They were all A.’

  ‘I’m against it,’ said Dove mechanically.

  ‘Me too. I was always B myself. But they were all in the A stream, clever bright little victims, and they were taught for the last year by the same teacher: that is they had the same class teacher, Jean Young.’

  ‘They all knew Jean Young.’

  ‘Yes. She’s friendly. Well liked. She had them in to see her sometimes, took them on expeditions at the weekend. She’s a local girl. Grew up round here and she doesn’t forget it.’

  ‘She’s a nice girl.’

  ‘So they all knew her well. And her home. And her brother.’

  ‘And he knew them.’

  ‘Yes. Tony Young knew every one of those girls. And that’s what I don’t like.’

  ‘We’ll get him in. We can have a nice long talk.’

  ‘He won’t say anything.’

  ‘Not at first,’ said Dove ominously. Coffin looked at him. Dove had a certain rough reputation for getting what he wanted. You wouldn’t think it to look at him.

  They waited. Soon it became clear that they had found three bodies and three was all.

  ‘It’s not quite enough, is it?’

  ‘The Anderson girl?’

  ‘Yes, Belle Anderson. We don’t have her yet. Where is she?’

  ‘Another affair altogether?’ said Dove uneasily.

  ‘Two abductors? I hope not. I really hope not.’

  ‘You always get imitators.’

  ‘I want to find that Anderson child. I want her soon.’

  ‘We’ll get Tony Young in,’ said Dove. Not soothingly, the position was hardly one on which to be soothing, but certainly in a placatory way. ‘With any luck we’ll get a lead from him.’

  ‘It’s taking a lot for granted.’

  ‘He’s in it somewhere, I swear.’

  ‘Yes.’ Coffin considered. ‘He is. I know you can shake anything out of anyone.’ He said it, not with approval, but more with the air of making an admission. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t one he usually made. It was on the dark side of his life, this sort of thing, something he was not explicit about. You dealt in violence. You learnt how to use it. But sometimes there was a kick-back. A little while ago he had been almost crazy, and might be again. ‘If it’s there.’

  ‘It is with him. I swear it.’

  ‘There’s someone else who can help us.’

  Dove looked up.

  ‘Kim Simpson. If things don’t move soon, I’ll get Kim Simpson and I’ll shake the truth out of her.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Judith came back into Tony Young’s life in the same off-hand manner that she had departed. She was waiting for him in her white car outside the shop where he was working. She opened the car door silently and he got in and sat beside her.

  ‘Word’s been getting round to me,’ she said, ‘that you’re in trouble.’

  ‘I could be,’ said Tony, who didn’t like to think about it. He had given up thinking these days. Packed his bags and moved from his mind, leaving it empty. Being empty, it echoed a good deal.

  ‘You’re a boy with education. Why don’t you do something about it?’

  ‘I didn’t want to,’ said Tony, with truth. ‘Frightened.’

  ‘You’re a clever boy, too. Why did you let yourself get into this mess?’ She was scolding him, her face was serious, she really wanted to know.

  ‘I didn’t want to get caught up,’ said Tony, not answering her directly. ‘Not like Jean. She’s in it. I thought if the institutions don’t exist to suit me, then I’ll make them. I was doing it, too.’

  ‘You can meet a lot of lunatics that way,’ said Judith, dispassionately. ‘And you have.’

  ‘How did you get to be so much wiser and more worldly than me?’

  This is no time to get funny.’

  ‘It’s not so much of a joke.’

  ‘You need me to prove you’re human.’

  ‘Let’s start with a little club, shall we? Just you and me. And the car,’ he added, patting it. There was strength in the feel of it and he began to look more cheerful.

  ‘I think I take it back: you’re not human.’

  He took her hand. I’m human.’

  They sat for a moment in silence.

  ‘Am I holding the hand of a murderer?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘I’d like to believe I’m not,’ he said.

  She took her hand away. ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘Well, in a way.’

  ‘That’s good: in a way! How many ways are there?’

  ‘You have had an easy life,’ he said jeeringly, ‘if you think it’s only the things you know with your mind that are the real things. Even I know better than that.’

  She started the car and drove slowly through the streets. There was plenty of traffic.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  ‘I noticed long ago that the kids always seemed to take off on the night our club was out at a sighting. Could be just coincidence. Or, if you thought flying saucers were landing then you could think perhaps the saucermen were collecting them.’

  ‘I don’t believe in those saucermen.’

  ‘Some people do. For instance, I had a le
tter from old Miss Jones to say she’s reasonably certain there’s been a saucer hovering over her ward in the hospital.’

  ‘That would worry me!’

  ‘It’s bucked her up. But I don’t have to believe. I don’t have to say, yes, I believe. I just ran the set-up. But I was always out the nights the children went. I was bound to ask myself if that meant anything.’

  ‘Are you telling me you’re out of your mind?’

  ‘I have a tape recorder. I use it to put my thoughts in order. One night I played it and there was a child’s voice on it.’

  ‘I’d like to hear it.’

  He looked out of the window. They were still in Saxe-Coburg Street. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said. ‘When I tried to play it again, there was silence.’

  ‘Yes, I see your trouble,’ said Judith. ‘You don’t remember doing anything yourself?’

  Tony shook his head.

  ‘Then there’s nothing there,’ said Judith. ‘I don’t believe in amnesia.’

  ‘Good.’

  He didn’t sound very cheerful. Judith glanced at him and drove more quickly. At the park gate, under the trees, she stopped.

  ‘You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not exactly hiding. More keeping it to myself.’

  ‘Show me the difference.’

  ‘If I’m using my own judgement, then that’s keeping it to myself. If I’m just frightened to tell, then that’s hiding it.’

  ‘You certainly do talk a lot.’ She was half amused, half exasperated. Not quite serious yet, but beginning to be worried for him. She was a girl who had a capacity to love and protect.

  ‘There seemed blood on my shirt when I got home the night the last child was missing. Fresh blood it was. Jean found it there.’

  ‘Jean’s a disinterested person, I take it?’

  ‘Jean has no loves and no hates. She’s never found anything to inspire her to love. She’s still looking.’

  ‘She might not be so fond of you as you think. She might not mind to see you hop.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘They’ve not found that Anderson child, Tony.’

  ‘I wish they may,’ said Tony.

  ‘There’s enough substance in this to make it a real nightmare.’

  ‘Jude, if I was a real murderer, I’d have a good cover story, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Tony, you’ve got one. You’re you.’

  ‘Jude, if that blood was on my shirt, and I’m not a murderer, then someone put it there.’

  ‘On purpose?’ she said sceptically.

  ‘The other thing about that blood, Judith, when I took a closer look, was that it was lipstick. Not blood but lipstick.’

  ‘Lipstick,’ cried Judith in relief.

  ‘Not your colour. It may mean something and it may not. Who knows, Judith? I don’t.’

  They had circled each other’s position and were ready to observe each other alertly.

  Presently Judith started the car.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To the Blue Anchor. I’m hot and thirsty. You’re going to give me some coffee.’

  The street market around the Blue Anchor was getting ready to pack up and go home for the day. Judith found it easy to park her car.

  ‘Right. Into the theatre coffee-bar.’

  In the last year, the aged music hall, the Prince Regent, which had then been a cinema and then stood empty, had been revived as a repertory theatre. This was where Judith worked.

  The coffee-bar, which was open all day and also until after the last performance at night, was on a mezzanine floor. Judith led the way up.

  The crowd and the bustle acted like a blood transfusion on Tony. He looked round cheerfully, pushed aside a young man trying to get to a table and seated himself and Judith there instead.

  ‘I prefer a stool at the bar really,’ she said.

  ‘More private here.’ He came back with two mugs of coffee. ‘Here, sip this. Filthy stuff. Don’t know how they have the face to make you pay for it.’

  ‘Got to make a profit somewhere,’ said Judith, sipping her coffee and looking around. ‘We don’t make it out of the audience, I can tell you. They jib at paying more than two and nine to see us act. And we’re a good company.’

  ‘Yes, I know you are. But the trouble is, publicity-wise, you’re not organized.’ Judith looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, you need a bit of help there.’ He leaned back comfortably. ‘I’ve had my eye on you for some time.’

  ‘They’re a tough bunch here. Lay off them.’

  ‘Boys, my dear, boys.’ He leaned forward and suddenly looked very young. ‘Anyway I wouldn’t mind being an actor. I think it might be just what I’m looking for. What about it, Jude, think there’s room for me?’

  ‘You’d have to go away and learn to act,’ said Judith, putting on her professional face.

  ‘I could learn on my feet.’

  ‘Ha, ha!’

  A young man strolled over from the table by the window. ‘Hello, Judith.’ He stared at Tony.

  ‘Hello, Alan.’ The two young men looked at each other appraisingly. ‘Alan Riddell, Tony Young,’ said Judith hurriedly. ‘Tony wants to work for us. Anything going?’

  ‘I think we want someone to help shift the scenery round the back,’ said Alan.

  ‘What job would that be called?’ asked Tony, who knew that titles and status were deeply intertwined.

  ‘Assistant stage manager.’

  ‘Any chance of doing a bit of acting?’

  Alan shrugged.

  Tony made up his mind. ‘I’ll take it.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Tommy Titmus.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘He’s the SM,’ said Judith.

  ‘He’s a tough little man with big muscles,’ said Alan.

  ‘Got any interests has he? Tell me the sort of thing he’s interested in outside work?’

  ‘He’s just a tough little man with big muscles. I don’t think he reads and he’s not colour blind. Don’t try to infiltrate him.’

  Tony was silent.

  ‘Come over to my table and meet Joey.’

  ‘Who’s Joey?’

  ’She’s writing us a play,’ said Alan, leading the way to the table by the window. ‘Aren’t you, Joey? Aren’t you writing us a play?’

  Joey was tall and thin with a thick wave of pale hair falling over her left eye. The right eye was bright and observant. ‘Yes,’ said Joey.

  ‘And it’s going to be finished ten light years from now because Joey’s a slow worker, aren’t you, Joey?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joey.

  ‘Shove over, Joey, so we can all sit down.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joey, hardly moving.

  ‘What’s it about, your play?’ asked Tony.

  Joey looked at him wordlessly, but he thought that her lips faintly mouthed her favourite word. Yes.

  ‘Her dialogue’s her strong point,’ said Alan.

  From where they sat they could see the street in the evening light. As they sat there Coffin was in the old stables surveying the bodies of the dead girls. This was what time was like: one and indivisible.

  Alan looked at his watch.

  ‘Yes,’ said Judith. ‘You’d better get going, Tony. I start work soon.’

  ‘What is it this week?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just walking on. But I’m understudying the lead.’

  ‘She won’t be ill,’ said Alan.

  ‘Not her,’ said Judith. ‘She’d go on if her head had been cut off.’

  ‘You’d hardly know the difference sometimes.’

  ‘lt’d be more pleasant. I love her, though.’

  ‘I know you do, darling,’ said Alan.

  As they sat there they heard an ambulance come through the street. They looked and saw another following it. A black police car followed.

  ‘Looks bad,’ said Alan.

  ‘I heard they’d found something,’ said Judith uneasily.

&nbs
p; ‘Those poor kids,’ said Alan. ‘I hope they catch the monster. It’s spoiling our business round here.’ He stood up and went to look farther out of the window. ‘They’ll get him anyway. I bet they could put a finger on him now. Well, it’s clear, isn’t it? It has to be someone the kids knew. It has to be a friend of the family.’

  ‘Think so?’ said Judith.

  ‘Yes, sure. You wait and see. Coming?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joey. She stood up. She was wearing a ground length blue coat and black pointed shoes.

  ‘She’s a bit Gothic, isn’t she?’ said Tony as Alan followed her out. ‘I bet there’s a lot of silence in her dialogue.’

  Alan and Joey had disappeared. Judith and Tony stood on the street, looking at each other. ‘Time for young lovers,’ said Tony.

  ‘I’m really terrified for you, my darling,’ said Judith.

  Tony made an inarticulate noise.

  ‘Don’t mind my language,’ she said softly.

  ‘Can I borrow your car?’ said Tony. ‘I believe if I could drive in your car then I’d feel braver.’

  ‘Well, all right.’ She gave him the keys. ‘But bring it back tomorrow.’

  He got in, started the engine and waved his hand. ‘A la Bastille.’ She raised her hand in salute. ‘Oh look, there’s Dave. Without his girl friend.’

  Dave was walking slowly along the road.

  Tony caught him up.

  ‘Hallo there, Dave.’

  ‘Hello, friend.’

  ‘You don’t look pleased to see me.’

  ‘I was thinking.’ He looked at the car. ‘That yours?’

  ‘Belongs to my girl. Where’s your girl, Dave? The one I never see.’

  ‘She’s shy. That’s why.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘You don’t believe in her?’

  ‘Half and half, Dave boy. She’s not a friend of the family.’

  ‘You’re blocking the traffic with that car that isn’t yours,’ said Dave spitefully. Tony knew he was jealous about the car. The more so as he was a good driver himself, when he got the chance.

  The ice-cream van moved slowly past them, a uniformed figure pretending not to see them.

  ‘There goes Cy,’ said his brother-in-law. ‘Is he in trouble at home!’

  ‘What trouble?’

  ‘I dunno. Quarrel, quarrel, quarrel, that’s all it is.’

  ‘Still using his tape recorder?’